


Hold Me Close (And Don’t Let Go)

by TauntedOctopi



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Multi, Pet Names, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Shameless Smut, Unsafe Sex, mentions of abuse, romantic smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TauntedOctopi/pseuds/TauntedOctopi
Summary: Negan saves Grace from the standard post apocalyptic fate. Eventually, becoming his lover, her shell cracks, revealing her true feelings for the man who saved her.(Or: the one where Negan shows a softer side to the woman who loves him)
Relationships: Negan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Hold Me Close (And Don’t Let Go)

I wasn’t anyone special, before the zombies. Hell, even after the zombies came, I wasn’t anything special either. The only special thing I ever did was survive, and even then, in the end, my survival was attributed to someone else. I’d been alone, and I’d been stupid, and I’d been cornered. Without them, I’d have died. Without them I’d have joined the shambling walker ranks. 

I wouldn’t have made it, if they hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. They called themselves the Saviours, maybe in some bitter sense of irony. I suppose it was ironic, given that they saved me. Not just anyone. Their leader. I had been practically surrounded, running out of bullets, and he and his men had come from nowhere, it seemed, to save me. I’d never been so certain that I believed in a higher power until then. 

They’d taken me for a medical exam, given me bullets, and offered me a choice: I could stay, or I could go my own way. I’d chosen to stay. He had saved me, saved my life. And I had nowhere else to go. 

I got stronger. I recovered what weight I’d lost. I got smarter. Made some allies, made some friends. I practised my already decent shooting. 

I was pretty great with a sniper rifle, and he noticed that too. I ended up as his spotter, at first. The girl on the roof, in the trees, watching his back. I doubted he really needed me there, but anyone can be caught unaware by a sneaky walker. And besides, it felt like I was repaying the debt. He saved my life, and in the same breath, stole my heart. 

My name was Grace. I grew up in Texas, with a deeply religious pastor father and an equally fervent church wife mother. It wasn’t me. It wouldn’t ever be me. I escaped when I turned eighteen. My name was Grace, Gracie to my friends, or the people I called friends among the Saviours. 

He calls me Angel. 

—

I can pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with him. It was the moment he held out a gloved hand to me, when I was backed against a wall, given me a look over that was perhaps a little too long to be polite, and then spoken. 

“Seems you needed my help, darling.” 

The first thing I noticed, beyond the confidence, was how handsome he was. He was older than me, sure. Maybe early to mid forties. Steadily greying. Arrogant as all hell. He had just saved my life, then called me darling. 

I was a goddamn goner before I could even get to my feet. 

It was inevitable, in the end, that after spending time as his spotter, he’d asked me to join his group of wives. That was perfectly fine by me. He wanted to own me, and me? I wanted him. I never asked him for special treatment, or favours. I worked my job in the Sanctuary all the same. Whenever he asked me what I wanted? My answer was always the same. 

“Just you.” 

— 

I woke with the sunlight creeping through the reinforced windows, or rather the shutters over them. I was naked, but that was nothing new. 

I often ended up sleeping naked, the nights Negan chose me to sleep in his bed. Those were becoming far more frequent. The other girls, the other wives, they only came to him when they needed something. He never forced them, either. 

Me? I never needed medicine. Never needed a favour for a relative or someone important to me. I went to his bed willingly, only wanting him. 

I blinked sleep from my eyes, turning to face him; he was still asleep, a rarity. Usually he woke first, sent me on my way after a lazy, languid morning fuck. I was okay with that. More than okay with it. The room was dimly lit, my rifle propped against the dresser, his beautiful, deadly bat, Lucille, beside it. 

This morning, I was lucky. I propped myself up on one elbow, surveying the man who called me “wife”. He was just as gorgeous now as he was when I first met him, even though he was so much older than me. He had eighteen years on me. I didn’t care. He was handsome as hell, with his greying hair and toned body, and my lipstick from last night still faintly staining his mouth. 

“You are... so beautiful...” I whispered, uncaring that this was a man who killed who he wanted, when he wanted. That this was a man who was violent and terrifying. He had saved me. I had always, always wanted to be saved. He had just come a few years too late the first time round. 

“Hm?” One eye opened, lazily, and focused on me. 

I felt the heat rising to my face. 

“I - um.” 

He pulled me down into his arms, against his chest. 

“Tell me, babygirl.” 

That wasn’t fair. He knew I melted at his pet names. I was darling, I was babygirl, I was princess, I was his Angel. Not just in his bed. He called me those in public. I didn’t want to hope or dare that I was his favourite, but it was starting to feel that way. The others were... an arrangement. Mutually beneficial. 

I took a little breath. Steadied by the heat of his bare skin against mine. 

“I said, you’re beautiful.” 

He laughed, and I exhaled. 

“Beautiful? Now, see, I’d understand handsome. Gorgeous. Sexy as fuck. I’d understand that. But that’s a new one.”

I hid my face in his chest. 

“Aw, don’t get shy on me, babygirl.” He kissed my forehead. “You can say that, if that’s what you think. Hell, I like when you feed my ego. You never seem to want anything for doing it.”

I met his gaze, fierce all of a sudden. 

“I told you. And I’ll tell you again. I don’t want anything. Only you. I just want you.” 

He grinned, lazy, smug, and I realised he’d been baiting me, just wanting to hear me say it. 

“Love when you feed my ego, Angel.” 

I pouted, sitting up. “Like it needed feeding.” 

He laughed again, letting me go. His ego always needs feeding. It doesn’t matter whether I joke about it, I’m always the first to offer it up. 

My parents would be dismayed, to see their only daughter, who they named after biblical virtues, living in sin with a man old enough to be my father. I didn’t care what they would hypothetically think. 

“What are you thinking, hm?” Caramel eyes surveyed me, staying a moment too long on my bare chest. I smirked.

“How much I want you to kiss me.” I said, truthfully. A wicked smirk curled on his lips as he tugged me against him, pulling me into his arms and devouring my lips in a hungry kiss. Somewhere in there, I ended up in his lap. 

I love the way he kisses me, like a drowning man, like he owns me, like I’m air or the cure for whatever disease caused the rising. My fingers splayed against his chest, my other hand curling into his short, usually slicked back, hair. 

His hands wandered, one holding me steady by the waist. The other explored freely, ran up my side, caressing bare skin. He rolled my nipple between his fingers, smirking into the kiss when I moaned. 

“Well, shit.” He grinned, breaking the kiss for a moment, “You’re more enthusiastic about that than some of the others are when they’re sucking my cock.” 

I winced. It was a fact of life; he had other women. I could live with it. I could accept it. But I hated it. I was greedy. I wanted him to myself. I wanted him to love me, love me for real. 

He noticed my wince. 

“Don’t be jealous, princess. It’s a good thing. I can always count on you to love me right.” It was unspoken what he meant; the other girls couldn’t. I was special. 

“I do love you,” I said softly, and leaned in to kiss him before he could answer me, or reject me, remind me I was just a plaything. He didn’t contradict me, didn’t mock me. He just kissed me, his hand still caressing my breast for a moment before returning to my waist, settling on my thigh and trailing little patterns on my bare skin. 

“Say that again for me, darling.” 

“I love you.” I whispered it against his lips. Afraid of rejection from the man I loved. 

“You mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” I knew why he was asking. The other girls couldn’t be less genuine if they tried. 

“Even though I’m so much older than you?” 

I sniffed, trying to be prim. “It just means it turns you on even more when I call you daddy.” 

He snorted, but I felt his hardness pressing against my thigh, just at the mere mention. 

“You know I love that.” His face was pressed against my shoulder, nuzzling, kissing my throat. 

“But do you love me, daddy?” I was trying my luck. He could so easily snap, grow angry, throw me out. I could so easily fall from favour. I needed to take that risk. I had to know. 

“Never doubt that I love you, Angel. Not for one minute. I’m so fucking glad you’re mine, Gracie, because if you weren’t? I’d go mad with wanting you.” 

I met his gaze, saw truth in those impossible caramel eyes. 

“Good thing I’m yours, then?” I teased. 

He answered with a growl, hungrily devouring my lips in a deep and passionate kiss. I pressed myself against him, relieved and more than pleased to be cradled in his arms, in his lap. I desperately needed to be close to him, to feel his body against mine. 

That’s the thing about abused girls. We grow up into scarred women, desperate to be saved, falling in love with men who could protect us, who could save us, even when we no longer need it. 

“Mine.” It was a low growl against my lips as his hand worked its way inward from my thigh, up my leg, teasing my bare skin. 

“Yours.” I agreed. 

His fingers found my core and stroked across sensitive skin gently. That in itself was surprising. Not that he was bad at foreplay, he wasn’t. I was just used to him being rough. Negan and gentle didn’t exactly often combine. I felt incredibly lucky to be on the receiving end of such a rare occurrence. 

“So fucking wet...” he was more murmuring to himself than talking to me, but it did nothing to quell my arousal. I wanted him, I always wanted him. My love for him was easily translated into lust, easily translated into a language we both understood, that usually ended with me being fucked into the mattress, or against a wall, or in his arms, riding him. It depended what he felt like. It depended what he wanted. I didn’t care. I just wanted him. 

“Yes...” I wasn’t sure if I was agreeing, or urging him on. He slid a finger, thick and rough, inside me. The sound I made was definitely one of encouragement as my hand found his cock, wrapped around it and stroked gently. 

“Shit, princess.” He groaned it, watching me with half-lidded eyes as he curled his finger inside me, waiting a moment before he slid a second in, joining the first, eliciting a delicious moan from my lips. 

“I’d make you suck me off, but you did such a good fucking job last night that I’m tempted to cum just from remembering it.” He smirked at me, still curling his fingers. “But that would be rude. Leaving my little Angel hanging like this.” 

He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust of his fingers, pumping them as if he were fucking me properly. I wished he was, but I was patient. I was greedy. I would take both, if offered. 

I wanted to say something smart back, something witty. Make him laugh that wicked laugh of his, smirk that smirk that made me want to kiss him until I was out of breath. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re soaking my fingers, you know.” He sounded almost conversational, watching me, smug. 

“Yeah? How do I look when you’re fucking me?” I asked, my voice strangled by my attempt to keep it level. 

“There’s a reason I call you Angel.” He shrugged, slid his fingers out of me and pressed them lightly against my lips. “Clean these for me, princess?”

“Yes, daddy.” I sucked his fingers clean, tasting myself, feeling the way his cock twitched and throbbed in my hand as I did so. 

“I’ve been having a problem, you know.” He withdrew his fingers from my mouth, covered my hand - the one stroking his cock - with his own, guiding me. 

“Oh?”

“No matter who I fuck, I can’t get off. Not easily. Not unless I turn the fucking light off so I can’t see their face. In the dark they can be anyone. They can be you, princess, if I imagine it. If I put them on all fours in the dark, they could be you.”

I was stunned, wordless, staring at him. 

“You’ve gotten into my head, babygirl, and I don’t know if I like it.” He grinned, devilish once more as we stroked his cock together. “Hell if I can change it, though. Thank god you seem to like being there.”

I kissed him, wishing I could pour and convey all of my love and gratitude into a singular kiss. 

“I like being there.” I said, just to confirm it. 

He spread my legs a little wider, lifted me almost carefully. 

“Ready?” He always asked. Negan was a lot of things. Violent in bed wasn’t one of them. He always asked me. 

Wordless, I nodded, and he pulled me down onto him. I sank onto his cock slowly, enjoying being filled inch by inch. He muttered obscenities under his breath the entire time. 

“Fucking shit, princess. How are you so fucking tight?” He groaned it, his lips against my throat, stubble tickling my skin. I giggled, but it came out mixed with a moan as he rocked his hips up to meet mine. 

He noticed. Repeated the movement. This time his mouth left my throat, sucked softly on my sensitive nipples. 

“You like that, huh?”

I moaned again, wordless. 

“Use your words, baby. Tell daddy. Did you like that?” He bucked his hips up, slow and deliberate. I gasped a sharp moan at the feeling of him, buried deep inside me. 

“Yes, daddy.” I moaned, and slid my fingers into his hair, my other hand resting on his shoulder to steady myself. 

“That’s more fucking like it.” He lifted me, moved us, so that instead of me riding him, I was pressed beneath him, wrapping my legs around his waist. I preferred it this way. I wasn’t picky, not really, I just liked it when he fucked me, but if I had to choose? Being pressed into the bed, with the steady weight of him on top of me? That was my favourite. 

Call me lame. Call me vanilla. I just like the feeling of the man I love fucking me into our bed.  
It’s one of the few normal things left in a world ravaged by zombies and war between surviving factions. Let me have this. 

He lifted one of my legs higher around his waist, holding, adjusting. It allowed him to get a deeper angle inside me, and we both moaned our appreciation in slightly different fashions. 

Mine was a soft little moan of his name, a tightening of my fingers in his hair. His was a muffled, yet enthusiastic, “fuck!” that befitted a younger man. I loved his stamina, his enthusiasm. I loved the way his hand held my thigh in place, the way his other hand cupped my chin and drew me into a kiss. 

I loved kissing Negan. I wished I could do it more, and more, showing my devotion to the man I called husband. I am so, so lucky. 

I wanted to say that, but my words were gone, replaced with little moans and cries as his pace increased, harder and faster until I cried out again, impossibly tight around him, so close to my peak that I could barely think straight. 

“That’s right, princess. You get there for me. Cum all over my cock, sweetheart. I know you love it. You fucking love it.” The last four words were punctuated by sharp snaps of his hips against mine, eliciting delicious moans from my lips. 

He was right. 

“Yes!” I cried out, “I love it, I love your cock, daddy.”

“Cum for me, Angel.” His low voice was almost a purr in my ear, perfectly timed. I gasped, my body trembling as I did as I was told. Satisfied with the force of my climax, feeling me tighten and pulse around him, he returned his mouth to my nipples, sucking softly on the sensitive skin as I rode out my release. 

“Perfect tits. Perfect tight little pussy. How about I fill you up, hm, babygirl? Would you like that?” 

He knew I would. He knew I loved him. He knew I would do anything he wanted. I loved him even more for asking. 

“Y-yes,” I gasped, over sensitive and overwhelmed by the release he had given me, the feeling of his cock still slamming into me roughly, hitting all the right spots. 

“You don’t sound too fucking sure, princess. Tell me. Let me hear you.” His hand gripped my chin, not too gentle, not too rough, forcing me to look him in the eye. 

“Yes,” I said, my voice clearer this time, “yes I want that. I want you to cum inside me, daddy.”

There was a thrill to it. He never finished inside the other girls. Not ever. It was a mystery to them as to why. He never usually finished inside me, either. This was different. This was special, and I knew it. 

“As my babygirl wishes...” he released my chin and kissed along my jaw, growls and groans of pleasure muffled slightly by my skin as he continued to draw his pleasure from my body. 

“Fucking - shit - fuck, princess!” He moaned a string of expletives as he buried himself to the hilt inside me, filling me with the hot, thick wetness of his release. I was so used to him finishing in my mouth, or on me, that I was fascinated for the briefest moment with the way it felt, the way I could feel him throbbing and aching inside me as he reached his release. 

He breathed deeply for a moment, as we both caught our breath. 

“Christ, Gracie.” It was one of the rare times he used my name. “This right here is why I like having you in my bed.”

I pushed my hair out of my eyes and watched him as he rolled off of me, to one side, pulled me against his chest. We were both sweat damp, but neither of us cared. 

“Oh? Is that all? The only reason?” I teased. I was too full of the afterglow from a good, rough, delicious lovemaking to worry about teasing him. 

“Of course not, but fuck, does it help.” He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. “Stay out of trouble today.” 

“I always do.” I smiled softly at him, my eyes and my heart full of love for him, and him alone. 

“And come back to me tonight.” He added as a last thought, before he kissed me again, slow and deep, before pulling away and rolling out of bed. 

“Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“You.” He said firmly, yanking on his jeans, “you and your sweet mouth and gorgeous fucking body pressed against mine and writhing on my cock. Tonight.” 

His shirt and leather jacket were next, Lucille firmly held in his hand, leaving me naked in his bed, my body aching and my heart longing. 

“Tonight.” I agreed, waiting for him to leave so I could begin the arduous process of finding my clothes, getting dressed, surveying the damage of bites and bruises he had doubtless left on my body. 

Tonight. Tonight, I thought, I would make him smile. I would be back in his arms where I belonged. I just had to get through the day, first.


End file.
